Ethan had crossed paths with a handful of Titled over the years.
Most of them were nothing special and were incarcerated alongside him, scum of the earth who, when released, would just use their abilities for small-time crime rather than heroics.
There was a man who could turn his fingers into blades, probably saddled with a miserable title like Knife Fingers.
Another was a woman who could soften her bones and squeeze through gaps barely wider than her head, calling herself Boneless Cat and escaping the prison to live her life as a thief.
Nothing impressive, and they were quickly moved to another facility upon displaying their abilities.
And yet, every single time Ethan encountered a Titled, something inside him stirred.
A tightening in his chest.
A prickle along his spine.
Whether it was primal instinct or simple caution, he didn't know - but he always felt on edge around them.
They were literally superhumans walking among ordinary people.
The strongest of whom could kill him with a flick of a finger, and the world would applaud. Compared to them, everything Ethan had suffered through - every fight, every injury, every bad decision - felt small.
Trivial.
It was humbling and... unsettling.
-
"Right this way," the woman with antennae said pleasantly.
Ethan nodded quietly and followed her.
Up close, he got a better look at her. The antennae protruding from her head were thin and smooth, almost translucent, faintly glowing at the tips. Something about her presence felt… alert.
'She's definitely a Titled,' Ethan thought. 'But I wonder what her ability is.'
If he had to guess, she had some kind of insect-based ability.
Maybe enhanced senses, or maybe she was something like an ant queen, commanding an army of critters.
Who knew?
All he knew was that he desperately wanted to understand his own abilities.
'Lord Of Beasts.'
The title echoed faintly in his mind again.
From what he'd seen, Titles tended to be literal, and powerful-sounding ones usually weren't a joke.
His sounded incredible, but also ominous.
Of course, all kinds of ideas about it bounced around his mind, but only time would tell what it really meant.
As they walked, Ethan noticed people lingering around the reception area.
From guild recruiters with sharp eyes to reporters clutching cameras and tablets, they were all waiting for the next headline-worthy Titled to appear.
'I can only hope it's me,' he thought, pulling his hood a little lower.
As much as he wanted to be a powerful Titled, he'd rather not have the fame and attention that came with it.
"Every Titled receives a single title," the woman explained as they walked, snapping Ethan out of his thoughts.
"Your abilities stem from it, but your potential and growth are separate matters. We still don't know where Titles come from. Some say from God, while others theorise that we as a race are evolving."
"But then again, we don't know for sure where humanity itself came from either."
Ethan nodded along.
"There are generic titles that multiple people may share - sometimes even relatives," she continued. "But most are unique. Here, we estimate a Titled's potential and assign a rank from E to S. That doesn't always mean higher rank equals better combat ability, though."
She glanced at him as they stepped into a lift. "Some people keep their Titles secret. Others announce them proudly. Either way, it's your choice."
It rose rapidly, ears popping slightly, before letting them off dozens of floors above. Then came another stretch of pristine corridors.
"For example," she added cheerfully, "my Title is Signal Hive."
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"My antennae allow me to emit and receive low-level mental signals," she explained. "I can gauge emotions, intent, and stress levels in those nearby. I can also coordinate people more efficiently in a group."
"Support-type," Ethan muttered.
She smiled. "Exactly. I'm barely D-rank. Not the most combat-oriented, but useful in other ways."
'She definitely talks a lot,' Ethan thought.
Still, he appreciated it.
The silence would've been worse, and a lot of the information, though basic, was useful.
"Gates are becoming more frequent," she went on. "If we don't close them quickly, disasters in the form of Gate Breaks happen. Like the Dubai incident a couple of years ago that nearly wiped the city off the map," she paused for effect.
"It all started with an unstable A-Rank gate in the dunes that went completely undetected."
Ethan frowned.
"Now we can detect where and when these gates will form. Groups of Titled are dispatched based on danger level, stability and compatibility."
She stopped walking.
"The same way we understand very little about these Titles, we also don't yet understand the origin of these gates to other realms filled with monsters."
She placed her hand on a door.
"But we do know this: the Titled are the future, and without them this world would have long been destroyed by the gates."
The door slid open.
"So let's see if you're one of us."
Testing Room 17 was stark and sterile.
It had white walls, reinforced glass panes that looked over the city, and soft blue lights embedded in the ceiling.
At the centre of the room stood a pod - sleek and cylindrical, lined with sensors and faintly glowing inscriptions.
She operated a tablet, and the pod swept open.
"Step inside," she instructed. "Focus on your title. Your abilities should manifest naturally, and we can get a gauge from the energy signature of your current rank and overall potential."
She hesitated, then added, "For reassurance, we can't confirm your title even if you demonstrate its abilities."
Ethan stepped into the pod.
He had no doubts.
He had imagined plenty of things while blackout drunk before, but not that voice.
That voice had been real.
'Lord Of Beasts.'
The pod sealed shut with a soft hiss.
He closed his eyes.
'Lord of Beasts.'
'Lord of Beasts.'
'Lord of Beasts.'
He continued repeating it in his head and trying to focus inwards, but nothing happened.
There was no response, no tingling sensation, no power.
Minutes passed.
His stomach sank.
'Why isn't this working? I thought this was it. I thought I could finally turn my life around.'
Eventually, the pod hissed open.
Ethan didn't move.
The woman watched him quietly.
She'd seen this plenty of times - people convinced they'd received a Titled, only to face reality.
"You never know," she said gently. "You may actually receive a title at any point."
'But I did already,' Ethan thought numbly.
The walk back felt longer.
The woman was polite but distant now, clearly convinced he had wasted her time.
Seeing his disappointment, the recruiters looked away, and the reporters sighed.
As he made his way out, he noticed the receptionist's lips curl into something dangerously close to a smirk.
Ethan left the building quickly.
Outside, he lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.
"What the hell do I do now?" he muttered, exhaling smoke.
He couldn't face Marcus, Mr Cho, or even himself.
'Did I imagine it? But why Lord of Beasts? Why something so… specific?'
He took another drag.
"I guess this is it," he said quietly. "Back to the basement."
His thoughts drifted somewhere darker, getting back in the game and making some quick money, but he shut them down immediately.
'No. We promised that was our last hit.'
He sighed, and with nowhere else to go, Ethan turned back toward the bar he called home.
Unaware that his title had yet to manifest itself...